


Noise Complaint

by DreamingPagan



Series: Graced [15]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, FoG-verse, Humor, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, in which the entire McGraw-Hamilton extended household needs better sound-proofing, just after Pancake Day or thereabouts, takes place in 1706
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 08:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20485661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/pseuds/DreamingPagan
Summary: The house that James, Miranda, Thomas, Gates, and Hennessey all share is cozy. And very badly insulated. Some housemate negotiations may be needed.





	Noise Complaint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sirenswhisper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirenswhisper/gifts).

It is late in the evening when James returns to his house. The cicadas are singing. He’s gotten three mosquito bites simply from moving from his horse to the porch and yet - 

“Wouldn’t go in there ‘f I were you.” 

Charles is sprawled in the hammock that hangs near the door. James scowls.

“I’m tired, and the fucking mosquitos think I’m a five course meal. I’m going in,” he says, and Charles opens one blue eye half a millimeter. 

“Birds be tweetin’,” he says, and subsides again. James rolls his eyes, and reaches for the door.

He crosses the threshold - and then blinks. 

“Thomas?” he asks. “Miranda?” 

It is a relatively cool night. By all rights, the bedroom should not be hot enough to warrant this abandonment of a perfectly comfortable bed, and yet - 

Miranda and Thomas look up, but do not speak. Miranda looks particularly rumpled - as if she had risen from bed suddenly and unwillingly. 

“Four. Three. Two.” Thomas’ voice sounds as he stares at the ceiling from his position in the kitchen chair. He sounds resigned.

“Thomas what are you do -” James starts. Thomas holds up a finger. 

“One,” he counts, and then there is a thump, and a moan, and James stares, a blush slowly spreading across his face as he realizes what has driven his lovers from their room.

“Hal - Christ, yes, keep going -”

Hennessey’s voice sounds from inside the bedroom he shares with Gates, and James feels his face turn bright red. 

Thomas groans.

“Miranda, how many is that?” he asks, and Miranda, sprawled across their only chaise, flings an arm over her face. 

“Far, far too many,” she answers. Walrus whines. He has stationed himself at Hennessey and Gates’ door, head on his paws, tail thumping somewhat dejectedly against the door itself. 

“It’s one in the morning,” James observes in a sort of horrified whisper. Thomas lowers his head onto his arms on the table. 

“You should hear it in our bedroom,” he mutters. That’s the last straw - the look of utter defeat and weariness on Thomas’ face. James strides toward his father’s room.

“Are you quite finished in there?” he asks loudly. There is a pause and then - 

“Good Christ - ahhhhh, Jesus!” 

Another loud moan sounds from beyond the door. 

James stops. His cheeks are flaming red, he can feel it, and it’s not from the heat. He retreats a few steps - and then pulls one boot off. His feet are sweaty anyway - he might as well get comfortable, and this will afford him safe distance. He whips the boot toward the door.

“You’re not the only ones in the house!” he reminds loudly. “Stop doing a goat’s jig in there!” There is a sound of shifting from beyond the door - and then a grunt, and the sound of people moving about in the bed - and then, blessedly, silence.

He turns to Thomas and Miranda.

“Why didn’t you try that earlier?” he asks, and Miranda gives a sheepish sort of shrug. 

“Twenty years of separation deserves perhaps more than five hours of togetherness,” she says softly. 

James rolls his eyes. 

“They can have as much togetherness as they like once we’ve all gone to sleep,” he answers. “Come on - Thomas, love -”

“A goat’s jig?” Thomas asks, and James blushes.

“I’ll explain when you’re older,” he says, and Thomas rolls his eyes.

“James - I’m older than you,” he says with a yawn. 

“Means fucking like rabbits!” Charles pipes up from outside.

There is a snort of laughter from the bedroom, and James blushes harder. Thomas blinks.

“You’re right,” he says. “I was not old enough to know that.” He slumps in his chair again, head resting against the wall. James shakes his head.

“Come on,” he says. “Bed.” 

He gets a shoulder under Thomas’s arm, and together he and Miranda wake their already half-asleep husband enough for him to stumble down the hallway, leaning heavily on James as he does so. When they get to the bed, Miranda helps James set Thomas down, and he nuzzles the pillows, body relaxing even further now that he is comfortable. He reaches for them.

“I love you. Please don’t leave me,” he murmurs. Miranda runs a fond hand through his hair.

“We’re here,” she murmurs, and then climbs into the bed beside him, gesturing for James to join them. 

**************************************************************************************

_ Inside the bedroom: _

In their defense, they don’t actually start laughing until the younger members of the household have gone back to bed.

Hennessey sits, his face against Gates’ shoulder, trying desperately not to make further noise. It’s difficult - he’s actually crying with laughter, and Gates is hardly any better.

“Oh - oh my,” Hennessey gets out eventually, still chuckling as he looks at the state of their bed. The pillows are everywhere, and the sheets are - 

He blushes, and pulls the sheets up over himself, and Gates continues to laugh, and pointedly does not cover anything. 

“We should likely make some form of apology,” Hennessey says at last, as he reaches for his nightshirt. Gates snorts.

“Mebbe when they learn to pipe down themselves,” he answers. He meets his husband’s eyes. “Ready for another round?” 

Hennessey rolls his eyes. 

“Some of us do believe in sleep,” he answers, and Gates grins. 

“Just winding you up, love. Reckon we can come out long enough to clean up without getting a boot to the backside?”

“Provided that you put on some clothing - Hal! Hal, for god’s sake close the door again you shameless exhibitionist -!”

Gates’ laughter echoes down the hallway, and then Hennessey hears Charles’ voice from the back porch.

“Are those tooth marks on your arse?!” 

Hennessey groans, and buries his face under the pillow. Maybe everyone will have forgotten this by morning.


End file.
